1,001 Nights
by Shinigami Rumbleroar
Summary: Lost and alone, Loki makes himself a nest of Tony Stark's dreams and a home in the darkest corners of his mind.
1. beginnings

**i. beginnings**

* * *

Tony stands in the darkness and watches Loki pull the wire out of his lips.

It doesn't occur to him to wonder about the things he would normally wonder about – how he got there, why he's there, where 'there' is, anyway. Those thoughts won't come to him until much later, after he wakes in a cold sweat and realizes that this is a dream. For now, he is lost in the insubstantial haze of his subconscious, watching as the trickster god un-sews his mouth and lets loose his poison tongue.

If Loki were a mortal man, there would be scars. He is not; there are none. He drops the wire (where it goes doesn't matter, it simply vanishes), stretches his jaw, and once again the skin around that mouth is as pale and smooth as it ever was before. Perfect.

The same cannot be said for the rest of him.

Tony has seen photographs of the prisoners of concentration camps from World War II, and it's with no small amount of reluctant discomfort that he realizes that these are what Loki reminds him of. He's pale as usual, yes, but his skin lacks its normal luster. Rather than porcelain white, it seems to be a dull, dirty gray. There are heavy bags beneath his dark, sunken eyes and his hair is a knotted mess of grease. The regal leather and gold that he favors is entirely gone, replaced by nothing more than a baggy pair of stiff, cotton pants that hang from his bony hips. They do a disturbingly good job of highlighting his emaciation. His ribs have become his armor.

Tony swallows. His head is bursting with questions, all screaming for answers as the god's eyes glide up to meet his own.

_What happened to you?_ he wants to ask. _Is this Asgard's punishment? Did they sew your lips shut again? What are you doing here? What do you want from me? Are you even still alive?_

But this is a dream. Sense will not have its way. His lips form their own question without his permission.

"Why is it so dark?"

Hearing it in his own voice, he is suddenly aware of the darkness in a way he wasn't before. They aren't merely standing in a lightless room; they are standing in a void, a vast stretch of nothingness without boundaries. He and Loki are bright and clear, as though illuminated from within, but beyond them there is only silence and emptiness.

Loki considers him for a moment and then turns his head slightly to examine their surroundings. A cruel caricature of a smile twists his face as he realizes these same things.

"Are you familiar with the creation of the world, Stark?" he asks.

"Depends which creation you're talking about – the real one that actually happened or one of the fake ones that religious people get all worked up about every time somebody mentions dinosaurs."

"I refer to ours, of course – the history of the gods," Loki provides dryly. "In the beginning, they say, there was only fire, ice, and the void in between. South, in the land of fire, Black Surt sat with his flaming sword, waiting to bring the end of all things. Isn't that something? Before Asgard and Midgard have been made, their destruction is already fated."

"So you're saying that's where we are? In the void thing-y?"

Loki frowns and is silent. He continues to stare out into the darkness, as though searching for a flicker of light, a sign of Black Surt and assurance of his death.

"No," he says after a long time. "We are not there. But close enough, anyway."

His eyes return to Tony's and they are sharper than before. They shine out of his face like dagger tips or stars, so radiant that Tony can almost overlook the poor state of his body. Here, at least, he is a familiar Loki.

"The fire and ice bled into the void and gave birth to a giant and a cow," Loki continues. "The giant was manifestly evil and his blood runs in the veins of all gods and giants – he was the grandfather of Odin and his brothers. My…father and his two brothers slew their grandfather, their mother's father, and from his rotting corpse they shaped Midgard, transforming his flesh and bones into terrain and pooling his blood into rivers and seas. His skull became the sky."

Loki pauses and examines Tony for a moment before adding, "All things come from darkness and evil and hate. It is in the fabric of existence."

"Why are you telling me this? I mean, it's a cute bed time story and all, but I'm relatively sure the first humans descended from a common ancestor of the apes', not the roots of trees or however that bit goes. Not hugely into fantasy, to be one hundred percent with you."

"You are a man of science," Loki allows. "I can sympathize. But I want you to understand exactly what I mean when I say that the gods and humans are made of different things." A pause. "Let me try to explain in a way you will understand:

"In your brain's most basic form, you have only instincts – fear, hate, disgust; emotions that allow you to identify threats and avoid death. Your brain came first and learned slowly to survive. Hate is, for you, an evolutionary necessity.

"For me, for the gods, it is different. Our hate came first. It is what we are. The blood and bones and skin of our bodies came as afterthoughts, curling around our darkness like moths to flames. Our shells contain us, but they do not define us the way they do for you, you simple, simple creatures."

Tony scowls.

"Yeah, you've kind of driven the whole 'humans are inferior' thing home already. I've got the message, thanks."

Loki's face takes on a countenance that Tony almost doesn't recognize, it is so misplaced on the God of Mischief. It's a combination of things, none of them good, but above all else it is desperation. Desperation and despair.

"No," Loki says quietly. "That's not what I mean at all."

Suddenly, he reaches up a bony, trembling hand and touches the pads of his fingers to his lips. When he draws them away, they shimmer with thick, red liquid. He stares at the substance without emotion.

"Is that blood?" Tony asks nervously. "Whose blood is that?"

Loki looks up, confused.

"It's mine, of course," he says.

As he speaks, his mouth visibly fills with a shifting dark that stains his teeth and lips. It slowly seeps out at the corners, drawing meandering lines down his cheeks to his chin. After a moment, his nose begins to bleed, too, from both nostrils, until the entire bottom half of his face is slick with garish red.

"I'm in pain," Loki says. "I'm in pain and I can't escape – it's who I am; what I am. For the rest of eternity, until Ragnarok at last crushes me in its rage, I will be nothing more than pain that can speak." He lets out an agonized groan. "Tony Stark, I do not think you inferior. _I envy you_."

This is the moment when Tony finally wakes, panting and shivering with some dreadful feeling that is neither cold nor fear. But before consciousness fully grips him and his eyes fly open with an almost audible snap, an image burns itself into his mind:

Loki's chest opens up, like paper ripping in two, and his beating heart falls out.

It sinks away, down, down, into the dark.


	2. unwell

**ii. unwell**

* * *

Another night, another dream.

And they are dreams – just dreams. Tony has had stranger, more horrifying nightmares, the kind that not even daylight can fully chase away, that linger on into the sun and fill the mind with night. He knows that shuddering terror like an intimate friend and, these days, only memories of Afghanistan can bring it back. In comparison, the darkness of Loki's pain is quick to fade from thought. Even the sinking heart disappears with the last of the stars.

The day is Tony's realm and he is in his element.

Pepper drops by after lunch and harasses him with demands – he can't quite recall what they are, but they might have something to do with the new building plans or the upcoming press conference or that charity ball he promised he'd go to but intends to ditch or … Well there are a lot of things they could be about, to be honest. None of them are of any interest to him when he's in his workshop, absorbed in his suits. A dream, certainly, is not worth his consideration.

But sleep comes again and so do sleep's strange visions. Part of the illusion is a demand for attention and belief. Tony finds himself alone in the nothingness, the delicate mechanisms and machinery forgotten. All he knows is Morpheus' embrace.

This time Loki is missing and his absence is conspicuous and uncomfortable. It's as though the novel's main character has been ripped from its pages, leaving a void in the shape of his figure. A void within the void. For a brief moment, Tony speculates. Again he is filled with questions whose answers will elude him (if they exist at all).

_Is he dead? His heart fell out last time, but was that real? Did it happen? Did he bleed? Can gods even die?_

Something clenches at his heart and the questions fade completely. Suddenly he feels as though an immense force is pressing in on him from all directions and his immediate thought is that the void has become sentient.

It's a black hole. It's malicious. It's killing him.

People can't die of a dream, Tony knows that when he's awake, but now, in the grip of something unspeakable, he suddenly forgets. Terror floods through him and the darkness clenches tighter, tighter, until the arc reactor in his chest gives a loud _crack!_ in unison with his bones.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

It's not elegant but neither is dying – he squirms and wriggles, trying to escape. The breath is pushed from his lungs and his vision skews, blurs, turns spotted, turns dark. The world inverts and splits apart. Simultaneously, it rips open and folds in on itself, looping and shattering in paradoxical twists, like physics and logic don't matter. Fleetingly, he thinks of Schrödinger's cat, imagines that this is what being the cat must feel like. His existence is indeterminate and independent of his will.

Only a second passes. Forever elapses and loops back in on itself to begin anew.

And then, mercifully, he feels peace.

He opens his eyes and discovers himself standing in a field of rolling hills and distant tree lines. Up above, the sky is a perfect, hypnotic blue. He sighs in contentment.

"Well, well. Back so soon?"

Tony turns and feels strangely relieved to see Loki standing before him in all his Asgardian glory. No bones this time, no sinking flesh or stitched up lips. The god is regal and tall and wearing a smirk.

"If I didn't know any better," Loki says, "I'd say you like it in my head."

"Your head?" Tony frowns. "Uh, I'm pretty sure the one waltzing around in other people's thought bubbles is you."

Loki seems puzzled.

"But why would I be in _your_ mind?" he asks. "How could a pathetic mortal like you possibly be capable of housing my consciousness? It's the other way around, Stark. Now get out of my dream."

Tony opens his mouth to protest, but blinks and is confronted with the dark stillness of his bedroom in reality. The ceiling stares back at him, undisturbed.

"Jarvis," he says hoarsely. "Time."

"It is currently four thirteen in the morning, sir," the AI provides at once. "Shall I start the coffee?"

Tony clears his throat.

"No, I… No. Thank you, Jarvis."

There's a strange taste in his mouth like rubber or tar. An eerie, unsettled feeling has crawled its way into his bones, but Tony swallows the best he can and attempts to will it into submission. Then he closes his eyes. He knows he won't sleep again, but pure exhaustion forces him to try.


	3. phone call

**iii. phone call**

* * *

"Hey Bruce, how's it going?"

"Who is this and how did you get my number?"

"What, you don't recognize my voice? That's kind of hurtful. I really thought we had something special. You know, like mad science buddies or something. Don't deny it – I felt the vibes."

"_Tony?_"

"At your service."

"Have you been keeping _tabs_ on me?"

"No, but SHIELD has."

"I only bought this phone yesterday!"

"Uh…it's SHIELD."

"Right. Of course."

"If it's any comfort, they don't plan on tapping it until tomorrow."

"That doesn't really help, but thanks for trying, I guess. What do you want?"

"I can't call up an old war buddy for a chat? We have the vibes! How's it going in Belize, by the way?"

"Fine."

"I hear the beaches are fantastic. And the women, too. Wow. Better keep a check on your heart rate, you naughty boy."

"Tony, what do you want?"

"…Uh, okay, this is going to sound weird and possibly a tad deranged but I want you to stick with me here. I've been having these dreams."

"Hold on, hold on. Are you seriously telling me that you hacked into SHIELD, –"

"Yes, I did."

" – the most secure database in the world, –"

"Debatable."

" – to look up the telephone number of a man on the FBI's most wanted list –"

"Are you really on their most wanted list? What number are you?"

"– so you could tell him about a _dream _you had?"

"Two dreams, Bruce. It was two dreams."

"Why don't you talk to Pepper about this?"

"I did. She told me to talk to a doctor. So here I am. Talking to a doctor. I get patient-doctor confidentiality, right?"

"She _meant _a therapist, Tony."

"Did she? It was a little vague."

A long-suffering sigh.

"I suppose if I hang up now you'll just call me back."

"And I'll keep calling, too."

"Fine. Tell me about these dreams of yours."

"Yeah, okay, right. They're about Loki. But not really _about_ him. It's more like he's there and I'm there and there's stuff happening, but it's not because of either of us. Maybe. You know?"

"No, I don't know."

"Uh…it's hard to – forget it, that's not the point. The point is that Loki's there and I'm seriously beginning to doubt that these are actually dreams at all."

"What, you mean like astral projection or something? That sounds dangerously Harry Potter, Tony."

"Not astral projection and not _magic_ either. Maybe it's some weird Asgardian laws-of-the-universe-defying technology."

"That…is basically the definition of magic."

"Shut up and listen, Grumpy. It was like he was in my dream but didn't mean to be. Or the other way around. He said something to that effect. He was kind of rude about it, actually, and it seemed like he wasn't expecting me. The second time, anyway. The first time was…different. Weird. He wasn't, uh…all there, if you know what I mean."

"So now you think you and a crazed, megalomaniac god have been…what, mind-melding?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. What do you think?"

"I have no idea, Tony. This isn't exactly my area of expertise. To be honest, if you're that worried about it, you should probably talk to SHIELD."

"Okay that's only slightly worse than Pepper's insinuation that I need psychological help. I'm not turning myself in to be poked and prodded and experimented on by those people, especially if there's a chance this _is_ just some weird brain thing."

"But what if it's not? As much as I hate to take anything you're saying right now seriously, Loki isn't the sort of person you gamble with. We're talking about a guy who only two months ago tried to enslave the earth and very nearly succeeded. If there's trouble, it's going to be big. Do you really want to take that risk?"

"It's not that simple. Turning this over to SHIELD could also put my arc reactor in their hands. And that's not something I trust them with. You're my last resort, Banner. With Thor up in his floating castle or whatever, there's no one I can talk to who has even the tiniest understanding of what we're dealing with that won't immediately turn around and run to Fury. Except, of course, for you."

"Well…that's not quite true…"

"What do you mean?"

"There's always, you know…Loki."

Silence.

"Oh no. I was afraid of this. You've been drinking the water. Have the hallucinations begun yet? This is what you get for running around third world countries in nothing but your shorts!"

"I'm not crazy, Tony. And _I'm_ not the one freaking out about a couple of dreams. Just listen to what I'm saying for a second – if this is real, then Loki's the one who's going to know what's going on. It's only logical that you should talk to him about it. If it's not real, then you'll just be chatting away with a figment of your imagination."

"Uh, so let's see, my options are: A, an insane trickster god of untold powers is slumming around in my brain, or B, I've officially lost my nut. That's not exactly comforting. I was hoping for a more, you know, curative solution."

"Take it or leave it, Stark. Like you said, I'm your last resort."

"What am I supposed to do? Drink some warm milk, have Pepper tuck me in, and hope Loki pops up with the sandman? And then what? I ask him to pretty please tell me what the hell is happening and how to make it stop? If this _is_ just some crazy plan of his, he's not going to just stand there and start _monologue-ing_."

"It's just a suggestion. Tell you what. _Sleep_ on it, and call me back in the morning."

"Oh, ha, ha, ha. You're a real riot, Banner. Just for that, you're paying for this phone call."

"Yeah, just forward the bill to SHIELD. It'll drive Fury crazy."

"That's tempting. Very tempting, actually. You have a devious mind, my friend."

A pause.

"Okay, I guess I'll give it a shot. This is the weirdest thing I've ever done, and I'm including that thing with the Siamese twins. Thanks for not calling the guys in the white jackets to come take me away."

"They'd come for me first."

"Ha. True. Give my regards to the other guy."

"I will. And, Tony?"

"Yes, Bruce?"

"Sweet dreams."


	4. dandelions

**iv. dandelions**

* * *

For a long time, Loki feels nothing.

He remembers bits and pieces, hazy fragments that are alternately sightless and soundless, but time is skewed and he can't discern the present from the past. Sometimes the future seeps in as well, like tendrils of smoke that whisper a promise of fire. The heat of things not yet to come licks and nips at his shoulders, teasing and tormenting and burning his skin, but still he does not feel – not really.

Then there's a face that's not his, a voice other than his own, and he realizes for the first time a deep loneliness in his chest. It _aches_. The other pains come swiftly after and the shock of all his deficiencies reminds him of how this prison came to be. (Because freedom from flesh and feeling is its own sort of enslavement, a kind without walls and so much harder to escape.)

"Why is it so dark?"

It _is_ dark, isn't it? Darker than dark and blacker than black. His throat contorts and he thinks he might be choking but he's not, only speaking, but soon even that suffocates and the nothingness is back and the feeling is gone and there are memories and injuries driving splinters into his eyes and under his nails but they aren't _his _and everything is blurring together in a slow whirlwind of heart beating, blood pumping, god oh god light surging melting _gushing pushing pulsing __**hurting hushing creaking bendingbendingbendingBREAKIN GSNAP**_

Clarity.

Loki opens his eyes.

He's standing in a field flecked with wildflowers that look like little bursting suns. Dandelions, his mind supplies. They're Midgardian, which is strange, because the mortal realm has never before been his sanctuary. Yet here he is.

He lets that breathe for a long moment, hanging untouched in the soft breeze.

Here he is.

Never before has existing been such a relief.

_I've retreated into my mind_, he thinks, and it's his first coherent thought in…in quite a while. _My magic's nearly gone. My body must be mending. Slowly._

He can almost feel it even from all the way in here. No. Wait. That sleepy throb doesn't belong to him at all. It belongs to the other face and voice, the one that briefly shot itself through the numbness and drummed fingers on his spine, made him feel resentment and relief.

Who?

Oh. That's right.

It's the Iron Man. Tony Stark.

And, speak of the devil (somehow that seems ironic), here he is, blinking into being, neither sudden nor soft, just as though he's been there all along but forgotten for a spell.

At first Loki is curious, but anger quickly floods in and takes its rightful throne. How dare this sniveling worm come crawling into his sanctuary uninvited? How dare he invade the sacred privacy of a god's mind? _How dare he?_

"Well, well," he says, because brute force was always Thor's forte, "Back so soon? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like it in my head."

"Your head?" the mortal replies. "Uh, I'm pretty sure the one waltzing around in other people's thought bubbles is you."

Maybe it's a sign of how extraordinarily weary Loki is, but suddenly he doubts. It's not a feeling he likes.

But why would the mortal say it if he didn't believe it? He's wrong, of course. But how would a mortal find his way into a god's dream? He is friends with Thor. Perhaps they could manage it, on purpose or by mistake. But the dandelions – _what are dandelions?_

"But why would I be in _your_ mind?" he says aloud, still caught between cold, certain fury and sickening 'if's. "How could a pathetic mortal like you possibly be capable of housing my consciousness?" No. It's not possible. He feels sure of it now. "It's the other way around, Stark. Now get out of my dream."

And then Loki gathers up the shredded remains of his magic and pushes with all the strength left in his mind. The mortal gives way beneath the force of his power and quiet solitude takes his place.


End file.
